


Beastie

by raccoon_witchery



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: 60's, AU, Cigarettes, Destiel - Freeform, SPN - Freeform, Smoking, Supernatural - Freeform, Swearing, WIP, coarse language, ish, smoking tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6382834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoon_witchery/pseuds/raccoon_witchery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is sent back to the 1960's to complete and undisclosed task, and joins the Grinners MC, a gang of roving hunters, for support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

“Dean. Are you smoking?”  
My eyes widened and I spat the lit Lucky Strike out of my mouth with a cough and quickly stomped it out against the cement floor of the bunker garage “what? No!” I locked eyes with Sam and he cocked his head to one side, raising his eyebrows quizzically.  
I threw up my arms I surrender “alright, captain salad, yeah I was smoking” I took another cigarette out of my back pocket and flicked open the zippo in my palm, the sound echoing about tensely “its not like we have a long shelf life anyway,” I said watching the cigarette flicker to life.  
He sighed and even though I wasn’t looking at him I knew his eyes were rolling in their sockets “that’s no excuse Dean. Seriously, we do enough damage to ourselves boozing and hunting, adding smoking into that mix- it isn’t smart.”  
I looked over at him and puffed out a plume of cool, grey, flower like smoke, leaning back against Baby’s bonnet “when did I ever say I was smart?”  
Sammy walked over and went to take the cigarette from my mouth but I smacked his hand away “Don’t.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because it’s none of your business what I do with my lungs.”  
He growled in frustration “of course it is, you’re my brother. And we have enough to be worrying about without you getting cancer.”  
“Relax, Sammy” I straightened up holding the cigarette loosely between two fingers “I can stop whenever I want.”  
He leaned back slightly “really? Stop now then.”  
I snorted turning away from him and walking away around the side of the impala “no, I don’t want too.” I took the squeegee out of the bucket and resumed washing the windscreen.  
Sammy shook his head chewing his lip “how long.”  
“A while,” I grunted a little, having to stretch to reach the far side of the window “it’s a long story.”  
He frowned, slightly taken aback “tell me.”  
I paused and looked over at him, blowing smoke out of my nostrils like a dragon by its lair “no. You wouldn’t understand.”  
Sammy pursed his lips and for a long moment the only sound was the gentle rhythm of the squeegee against the windshield “fine,” he turned on his heel and headed for the door “but this isn’t over.”  
I chuckled “yeah. It is.”  
It wasn’t until he left the room that I relaxed my grip on the polaroid photograph in my palm. It was me, a black and white photo of me on a motorcycle, a Harley. I was laughing- that was weird enough to see in of itself, a real candid laugh. I had a black leather motorcycle jacket and a gun could be seen strapped to my thigh. And on the side of the gas tank, in white lettering, Beastie.  
The weirdest thing, of course, was not the content of the photo. But the date. January third, nineteen-sixty two.


	2. Chapter One

It’s an obscure feeling, going to be at night in your room and waking up on the side of the highway with dry grass for a mattress, the evening sky overhead painted dark shades of blue and green and black, lightly speckled with stars, and the distant rumble of engines for an alarm clock.  
For a long moment I didn’t do anything. My mind was blank and I just laid there, looking at the sky taking easy breaths of cool air as the sound of engines got closer and closer. Until finally, softly but with a lot of feeling I murmured to myself.  
“What the fuck?”  
I slowly sat up and gazed around. I was in a slight depression by the side of the road, which was grey and sun cracked, and off to my right a herd of white lights could be seen getting brighter as they got closer.  
I felt around for a gun at my waistband before remembering that my nearest weapon would have been under my pillow. And even that would have only been a silver dagger.  
Sighing I watched as one light sped ahead of the other’s- must be motorcycles then- finally grasping the gravity of the situation, murmuring another “what the fuck” as I realised I had no idea where I was, without a gat, being approached by a large group of people on motorcycles.  
The breaks squealed and the wheel fanned a blade of smoke into the air. For a moment I was blinded completely by the light of the headlamp and then I saw. Her, an effortless blonde pomade with skin like porcelain, clad in black leather, a jacket with tassels on the back seem, black leather pants and buckled boots.  
Then a moment later her hands were off the bars and a gun was in her palm, and two shots snapped over head as the sound of the gun firing echoed across the landscape.  
“What the fuck!” I yelled raising my hands as I ducked lower “easy!”  
She kept the gun trained on me “We saw a flash of light, large, and now you’re here. So tell me, who or what are you, or the next forty-five goes through your skull.”  
I paused for a moment and then straightened up for a little “Okay, easy, my names Dean Winchester-“  
“Where you from Dean Winchester?”  
I paused “Kansas.”  
She raised an eyebrow. Holy crap I knew she had a gun trained on me but the more I looked the prettier she seemed “really?”  
I nodded “yeah.”  
“You’re a pretty long way from home, Winchester, this is Nevada.” She let the words sink in “you know how you got here?”  
I shook my head.  
She sighed and lowered the gun. Looking over her shoulder she raised her hand and the other bikes rumbled to life and began to approach again, not looking at me as she spoke “you’re a hunter then, aren’t you? This kind of nonsense only happens to Hunters.”  
“Yeah,” I followed her gaze “you can say that again, sheesh,” before reaching into my pocket. The woman’s head snapped around and the gun was back and raised.  
“Woah, woah easy! I’m just getting my phone” I put my hands back high in the air again, but she seem startled and adjusted her grip on her weapon.  
“Your,” she waited “phone.”  
“Yeah my cell-“ I stopped and sighed “what year is it? What’s the date?”  
“December eight. Nineteen sixty one.”  
I ran my hand through my hair “of course, just when I thought this can’t get any weirder.” I looked back at her “I’m from the future. The year twenty-sixteen, and no this doesn’t happen often, but it does happen a hell of a lot more often than I’d like.”  
The other bikes began to pull up along the side of the road “bullshit… Prove it.”  
Nodding I reached into my pocket and pulled out my smart phone “be careful it’s fragile, apparently they even bend in your back pocket.” I walked towards the Harley very well aware of the other leather clad bikers resting on idling bikes, watching me like hawks or vultures. One was cleaning her finger nail with a hunting knife that gleamed with a vicious curve.  
She took the phone gingerly in one hand, the other still holding the gun in a loose grip pointing it up in the air her arm bent at the elbow- and ran a finger over its glass surface before pressing the wake button jumping a little as the lock screen flashed to life “huh,” she turned the phone around “who’s this?”  
I flushed a little “oh that’s- that’s Cas, Castiel. Me and Cas.” I smiled nervously.  
“It’s a color photo,” she said matter of factly, looking down at the image of a selfie I took with Cas. I had one hand on his trench-coated shoulder smiling into the lens as he frowned confused up at the phone. It was my lock screen photo.  
Chuckling I took the phone back “yeah there’s a camera on the back too,” I unlocked the phone, pointed the camera and took a photo, catching the moment the bright flash startled the bikers eyes wide open “look,” I passed the phone back to her and looked down at her own image.  
“Alrighty,” she put the gun back in the holster on her thigh “that’s pretty fuckin’ space age, I believe you.” She looked around at the other bikers “Everybody, this is Dean Winchester, a hunter. He’s also from a good fifty years in the future,” a murmur rippled through the crowd before she looked back at me “I’m ‘Becca, this is the Grinner’s motorcycle club. We’re all hunters too.”  
I nodded “Cool, very cool, cool bikes,” I felt completely out of my element as I rubbed my hands on my jeans nervously.  
There was a moment of silence and then she spoke up again “ever hunted a werewolf before, Winchester?” She leaned against her handlebars nonchalant.  
“Of course, yeah.”  
“Ever hunted four?”  
I blinked “at the same time?”  
She gave a slight nod before sitting up again, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear “we’ve tracked a pack of them out here, and if we don’t get them tonight, they’ll be in the wind and we’ll be back where we started. The only thing that complicates all this is that.” She pointed over my head.  
I followed her finger and turned around nervously. Just above the horizon the full moon watched this whole spectacle like a silvery eye, and I swore under my breath.  
“Now, I’ve only just met you, so don’t get the impression that this is something I normally do but I’m not about to leave you alone out here. So hop on.” She put her hands on the throttle and revved the bike hard, the engine snarling and roaring beneath her “with any luck you might be useful.” She looked around at the other members of Grinners MC as their bikes roared to life with a confident smirk growing across her lips “Lets boogie!”


	3. Chapter Two

I’d ridden motorcycles before. But this was different. This was roaring down a highway, clinging to the seat of one of the twenty something Harleys screaming like Valkyries down the road. Most of the riders were brandishing weapons. I could identify some of them. Some were straightforward, knives and machetes. But there were also sawn off shotguns, an MP40, baseball bate rippling with nails, it went on. All of it gleaming wickedly in the light of the full moon, along with the bikes themselves.  
For a moment Becca rode one handed, reaching into her jacket pocket and fumbling about before producing a cigarette and putting it in her mouth. She looked over her shoulder at me expectantly.  
I swore under my breath “look at where you riding!”  
She grinned “light me first.”  
Swearing again I adjusted the way I was sitting on the bike so I could reach into my back pocket and grab the cheap plastic lighter there. I held the flickering flame under the end of the cigarette before it glowed to life. She nodded her thanks before turning back to face the road.  
It took a few minutes but after a while the pack slowed to a stop. A dirt track led away from the side of the road and towards a shack a little ways away glowing with light. The ground was hilly and patched with scrub here, and the occasional sparse looking tree reaching up towards the night sky. Becca killed the engine on the bike and took the cigarette out of her mouth so she could speak clearly to the others “We approach on foot. Caroline, Bradley, you two stay with the bikes.” She swung out of her seat and reached into a saddle bag “Everyone else, lets go kill ‘em dead.”  
There was a chorus of whoops in reply, and then Becca looked up at me “need help down from their princess?”  
I scoffed “no,” And promptly almost fell off the bike stumbling a little. She chuckled and unbuckled a saddle bag before tossing me a handgun “these ones, they’re hard motherfuckers,” she explained as we walked side by side away from the glow of the motorcycle headlights and into the darkness, towards the cabin, as other bikers walked around and ahead of us, talking quietly between them “tore their way through a national guard barracks. You and I both know that led can’t stop them, but with all the shells laying around we at least thought they had been pumped hard enough that it would slow them down. We were wrong.”  
From ahead there was a familiar roar and then the bark of a shotgun. Both out heads snapped around and we ran forward with the rest in time to see one of the Grinners empty four shotgun shells into the face of a werewolf, turning the monsters head into little more than crimson glue.  
Becca clapped him on the shoulder “you good?”  
He turned his head around, revealing the four deep cuts that raked their way across his face “just a scratch,” he growled “jumped from the tree.”  
Becca nodded and turned to the others “Watch for ambushes, keep moving.”

There were no more incidents on the long slow walk to the cabin. And then we reached it. It sagged drunkenly to one side and its walls looked porous and the glass stained. As soon as we got a few steps away from the porch all the lights inside flickered out. By this time me and Becca had moved to the front of the gang, but a young, slight woman with dark skin and a short black Mohawk pushed between us moving towards the door, holding an MP40 in her grip.  
“Easy Chief,” Becca called out and the girl stopped turning to watch as Becca grabbed me be the shirt and nonchalantly shoved me forward “let the new blood do it.”  
“Aight, Boss,” The girl named Chief shrugged and stepped aside.  
I scowled at Becca and she scowled back “not scared are we? Just a little baptism by fire” she aimed her gun at the door without looking and squeezed the trigger twice punching holes through the lock of the door. Before I had a chance to say anything clever it burst open.  
It took a split second for me to identify the threat. White, male, flannel and jeans. Teeth, claws, wild eyes. There was no doubt. And before I even realised what I was doing the gun in my palm bucked twice and thumped home in the center of the werewolfs chest. It let out a brief cry of pain before falling flat its face only a few inches from my foot.  
“Good,” Becca nodded, reaching into the inside of her jacket and producing a road flare “now the rest of the house,” she uncapped it and it burst into red light before tossing inside, illuminating the main room of the cabin, the light reflecting in sets of eyes that retreated into the darkness.  
I sighed murmuring “Seriously” under my breath before stepping inside.

It only took a minute or so, probably less. When you’re running on instinct, on adrenalin, time feels like it turns slower than usual. By the end I was standing over the last one, slumped against a wall, smears of crimson against the paper where it had slid down. With the four rounds in its gut it just couldn’t sustain its full form. And that when it began to speak, blood dripping out of the corner of its mouth and broken by rattling coughs.  
“You hunters and your damned bikes,” she coughed trying to stand up, but I pressed my foot against the cluster of bullet wounds in her torso and pushed her back down as she winced with pain “we’re on the same side here.”  
Becca strolled over, sliding a new magazine home into the grip of her 45. “and how’s that love?”  
The werewolf looked up at Becca, then at me. She looked scared, but certainly not of us “he is of great use to the sun. The sun,” she coughed again “the-“  
Her sentence was cut short by the crack of Becca’s gun. I took my foot off the werewolf and she fell to her side.  
Sighing I turned to look at Becca “Was that entirely necessary?”  
“She was going to die anyway, Dean, I did her a favor.” She raised her voice “everyone, clear out. Back to the bikes,” after the chorus of responses her voice lowered again to talk to me “what do you think she meant?”  
I scowled “I literally got here an hour ago, I have less context than you do,” I followed her as she walked out the door and back onto the track. Out of the corner of my eye I could see one of the other Grinners dragging what was left of the werewolves that died outside into the house, as another unscrewed a container of gasoline.  
“Well to give you some context, I’ve heard that statement before. “He is of great use to the sun.” other werewolves have been saying it, always before they die.” She holstered her handgun against her thigh “I have no idea what it means, I thought being from the future you might.”  
I shook my head “not a clue. The only suggestion I can make is hit the lore.”  
“Like a ton of bricks, yeah,” she looked over at me “no cigar. Nothing.” She paused for a moment “look. We have a safehouse not far from here. How about you stay with us? At least for a night. I wouldn't feel right, leaving you alone out here.”  
I mulled it over for a moment before nodding “Thanks. Not like I have anywhere else to go.”


	4. Chapter 3

The reel hummed to itself as I cast the line out into the middle of the placid lake, sending ripples across its surface. I sat back in the camping chair with a sigh, holding the fishing rod loosely in one hand as I reached into the ice-box next to me and pulled out a can of beer with the other. The day was cool and pleasant, but still sunny and-  
“Dean!”  
I turned my head sharply around my heart skipping a beat in my chest “Cas?”  
He nodded, his brow creased with worry “Where are you? Sam and I have been looking for you.”  
I sighed sinking deeper in my seat, realizing that this was a dream, and that the 60’s hunter biker gang was not “Nevada. But in 1961.”  
His frown deepened “How did you-“  
“I don’t know, Cas, I went to bed in the bunker and woke up on the side of the highway,” I came to my feet “don’t worry about me, I’m safe for now.”  
He fixed me with dark blue eyes “Dean.”  
“Look,” I raised my hands “the group of hunters I’m with are good. But something is happening here. I think I’m supposed to help.”  
He blinked “with what?”  
I let my hands drop and I looked over the lake “I’m not sure. Get Sam to look into the lore, see if there is anything about someone, a he, ‘being of great use to the sun.’”  
I looked back at him, my eyes settling on his lips for a moment as he nodded a little reluctantly “I will. I would like to get you home as soon as possible though, I don’t like this.”  
There was a lull in the conversation and it was his turn to gaze out over the dreamscape “This dream of yours, it’s always been my favorite.”  
I was a little taken aback at the sudden change of topic “really? Why’s that?”  
“Because it’s one of your favorites.” He looked back at me “it always seems to make you very happy.” There was another pause, he looked at his shoes then back at me, went to say something then closed him mouth again before speaking “Stay safe Dean.”  
“I will, don’t worry about me.” Color began to fade from the scene “you stay safe too Cas.”  
And just before everything faded to black I saw him smile.


End file.
